


Making A Mess

by RussianWitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Gaping, Come Inflation, Come as Lube, Don't copy to another site, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 16:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17348951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: The smutty adventures of werewolf John and Sherlock.





	Making A Mess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MirSama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirSama/gifts).



> Not beta'd

“How is that?” John barely recognises his own voice as he asks the question. Under him, Sherlock moans laboriously dragging trembling hands up to his belly to frame the barely visible swell. 

“More!” He slurs, shuddering when John takes hold of his hips and drags his ass into his lap.

John’s cock aches, the base throbs oversensitive, and in desperate need of—pressure, he ignores the sensation, concentrating on positioning Sherlock just right. The edge of the monstrous plus in the detective’s ass digs painfully into the underside of John’s cock, legs locked tight around his waist before groping around the bed for the bulb that controls the pump.

“Together then,” he pants, catching Sherlock’s wrist.

Closing Sherlock’s fingers around the bulb he wraps his hand around both and squeezes.

Sherlock whines wiggling restlessly.

It takes a couple of more squeezes before the detective goes still feeling the pressure inside increase as more viscous liquid is pumped into his gut.

Part of John isn’t too happy with it, the feral part that cannot tell the difference between fake come and competition.

Part of him can’t wait to remove the toy stretching Sherlock’s anus so he can see the right pinks and reds of his lover’s insides as the pearlescent lube drips from his slack opening in rivulets and globs. 

“John . . . please!” Sherlock gasps baring his long, pale throat, his free hand still on his belly rubbing and pressing, “I need more!” 

What he really means is: he needs John. 

But there is still one more size of dildo to go, the biggest one they’ve been working up to, with the specially ordered inflatable knot along with the come-tube. The one, John is worried will be too much, despite Sherlock’s protestations.

Sherlock moves, the base of the dildo digs painfully into John’s knot and pre-come spurs from his cock sticky rivulets ticking his oversensitive cock. 

“Not yet!” He growls, teeth and claws slipping his control.

To John’s amazement, Sherlock takes advantage of his distraction, pushing up and managing to roll them ending up in John’s lap pinning him to the bed.

“Now!” He demands wild-eyed, and he grabs for John’s cock stroking it roughy. 

Fabric rips, and by Sherlock’s vicious grin John knows he’ll have to go sheet shopping again.

Every instinct in him howls demanding he show his bitch its place, instincts he’s been fighting to keep under control, instincts Sherlock insists on taunting every chance he gets. 

He crawls up John’s body, heavy cock swaying with every move, leaving a sticky trail across John’s belly and chest until it is swaying enticingly right in front of John’s face.

Baring his fangs to warn Sherlock off doesn’t help, instead of reconsidering, the frustrating man sits down on John’s chest, grinding himself on the dildo until his cock is dripping steadily all over John’s throat and chin.

Words abandon him, a raze descends over John’s mind leaving mostly hunger and the need to dominate. 

Throwing Sherlock off, John growls a warning, rising on all fours ready to pounce, instincts taking over his rational mind, pleased when Sherlock rolls onto his knees and raises his ass in the air at once.

The urge to bite at the base of the toy is almost too much; John barely remembers that he has hands that make pulling it out easier. He kneads Sherlock’s ass cheeks giving himself a moment to get under control before tugging at the base.

Sherlock moans squirming against the pull, whitish lube welling along the rim of his asshole. John curses wrenching his claws away before he damages his lover, tearing the sheets around them before carefully reaching for the base of the plug again, reminding himself it’s only lube.

No one has fucked Sherlock’s ass; no one was going to either except for John himself. 

He twists the toy listening to the way Sherlock gasps and whines as his insides are massaged, imagining hearing the lube sloshing in the kneeling man’s gut, the need to add to it short-circuits his brain.

Slowly, he pulls on the toy watching the way Sherlock’s body fights to retain it before finally yielding, the muscle stretching wide around the fake knot releasing it with a squish and a flood of lube that drips down his balls and thighs, pooling between Sherlock’s knees. 

There is something he needs to remember, John thinks as he knee-walks forward, rubbing his cock between Sherlock’s cheeks, the head catching on the sloppy rim, 

John triumphant howl mixes with Sherlock’s scream as the excess lube allows him to push in to the hilt, mount his lover . . .  _ bitch  _ his subconscious whispers as John drapes himself over Sherlock’s back, giving him a breath to adjust to the intrusion, enjoying the way Sherlock’s body trembles around him. 

“Move!” Sherlock sobs clawing at the sheets, bearing down on John’s cock pushing back against him. 

The words don’t register, but the tone does it makes John’s blood boil and his balls ache. He pulls out until the head of his dick is spreading Sherlock’s asshole wide, then waits until Sherlock stops cursing and trying to follow, waits until he sags into the bed with a huff submitting as a bitch should.

More lube is pushed out of Sherlock’s ass as John pushes back in setting a punishing rhythm, squelching between them. John’s balls get splattered in it, as they swing forward, slapping Sherlock’s sack with every thrust adding to the cacophony of sounds filling the room.

John doesn’t last, jackhammering into his lover, his orgasm builds low in his gut, his knot catching more and more every time he pulls out, pushing a moan out of Sherlock every time it forces its way into his body.

It flairs, catching John off guard mid-way through a thrust still pushing forward as he’s caught, trapped in pleasurable agony slumping heavily on Sherlock’s back, everything turning hazy and soft.

Under him, Sherlock whimpers shifting restlessly trying to hump the bed, until John growls nipping sharply in the spot between his shoulder blades.

“Mine!” He manages to voice, shoving a hand under Sherlock’s body to grope for Sherlock’s cock, still hard despite the discomfort his bloated gut most create.

Discomfort John is adding to, spilling himself into Sherlock’s body filling him further, his nonexistent belly taunt under John’s roaming hand, Sherlock’s cock jumping in his hand every time John presses on his gut.

“You like feeling full,” he slurs through his fangs with amazement, ”you like having a belly full of hot come!” The thought sends a fresh bout of arousal through John, makes his knot flare again and Sherlock whine brokenly. “You like the idea of me dripping from your ass as you walk around.”

He wouldn’t mind seeing it himself. 

The thought of keeping Sherlock naked and dripping with his come, his trousers soaking with it as he walks around London advertising for every creature in smelling-distance he’s John’s, is heady. 

“So do you!” Sherlock says into the sheets, squeezing John’s hand around his cock harder, hard enough that John would worry... if he had the brain cells. 

“When my knot goes down, I’m going to plug you with the biggest dildo, shove a dragon dick up your sloppy arse, make you walk around the flat with all the lube and come sloshing around in your gut until you’re used to it.” 

“Fuck! John!” Sherlock curses and spills over their hands, setting John off again as his body tightens around John’s knot.

“Give me your hand!” John orders, barely keeping from lunging as come covered fingers appear over Sherlock’s shoulder. The taste of Sherlock searing his tastebuds, the smell of him lodging in John’s nose.

“How long will we remain locked?” Sherlock finally bothers to ask.

“No idea, really. I’ve never actually done this before,” John admits, shamefully pleased with the uncertainty. He splays a hand over Sherlock’s tight belly coming again, “a while I guess.” 

“Next time we’ll time it!” Sherlock mutters, “for decent statistical analyses a greater sample is needed…” 

John closes his eyes and stops listening. 


End file.
